


Winter of Haven's Content...or Discontent

by Sarah_JAG (msdonnatemplenoble)



Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: Backstory, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Hurt, Loneliness, M/M, Realization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdonnatemplenoble/pseuds/Sarah_JAG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A snowstorm hits Haven, Maine. It dredges up childhood memories both good and bad and the reminder that some things never die, they just change. Kind of like what happens in the winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nathan

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little blurb I had started from someone's suggestion awhile ago. I just found it! It needs editing and to be finished, but I thought I'd post it since we could always use more Haven fanfic.
> 
> *Work in Progress*

** Chapter 1, Nathan **

The Bronco plowed through the snowdrifts with an unusual amount of grace for a machine so large and cumbersome. The icy wind gusting in along the shoreline however; well that was posing a problem. The weatherman said the windchill was -15ºF and dropping. It was always worse right along the shoreline though. Nathan stopped the Bronco for a moment and stared out over the tumultuous grey waves of the Atlantic. The sky was dark, heavy with clouds bursting with more snow. The crashing of the waves beating mercilessly on Haven's shore, seemed an appropriate soundtrack to the morning. He flipped on the wipers to help deflect the spray from the waves. It was so cold now, that the water froze before it pelted the windshield like tiny beads of glass. It reminded him of when he was a kid and the Chief would have to take him to work with him because the weather closed the schools. He would always drive by this stretch of the shore and remind him about the danger of ocean in the winter, the biting cold, the risk of getting wet in such weather...blah, blah, blah. It seemed to Nathan that the Chief NEVER trusted his ability to think for himself, or make his own decisions.

Nathan scoffed to himself, _As if I didn't know that I could freeze to death quickly in weather like this; regardless if I could feel it or not._ He thought bitterly.

Nathan gave his head a shake to clear the memory before pulling the Bronco back on the road. Sighing, Nathan flipped on the heat in the truck and smiled at the sound of the old girl responding with gusto. Of course, he wasn't cold, but he was sure that if he walked into the station looking like a Popsicle, Laverne would send him straight to the hospital and he didn't want that. He smiled and patted the top of the dashboard like you would a faithful dog. Everyone else could have their new, fuel efficient, shiny, plastic cars. Nathan was quite happy with his Bronco. In a seaside town like Haven, Maine, there is often a well defined dividing line between those with money, and those without. Nathan, growing up as the son (adopted...biological...whatever) of the town's police chief, definitely did not fall into the category of those WITH money. Those were the kids who received convertibles for their 16th birthdays and they usually only lived in town during the summer months. No, Nathan saved up every penny from every terrible part-time job he could get as a teenager, to buy his Bronco. He served ice-cream in ridiculous hats at the shore to girls in tiny bikini's that found his push cart and paper hat hysterical. He had spent his evenings sweeping the floors at the station and cleaning out the holding cells. He even tried being a lifeguard at the beach. A position he was sure would improve his social standing at the time. However, a horrendous case of sun poisoning put an end to that. Not being able to feel when your skin was blistering from the unyielding summer sun turned out to be a bad thing for a lifeguard. Go figure. He even took a job down at the car wash, washing those convertibles the spoiled summer kids drove into town from Connecticut or wherever. The Chief was friends with the owner, fishing buddies. He made sure that Nathan wore a ridiculously large hat and was covered from head to toe like a Buddhist monk.

 _Yup, if there was anything girls liked, it was a pasty white, skinny teenage boy with no car and no money._ Nathan thought before reconsidering, _Well, not all the guys in town fared so badly when the summer people came back. Duke never did. Then again, Duke wasn't him. Duke didn't have the Chief watching his every move and reminding him day and night of every little mistake he had ever made. Simon Crocker was certainly no prize, but at least he didn't run hot and cold on Duke...then eventually, just cold._ Nathan lamented to himself.

The sudden intrusion of Duke Crocker into his thoughts put a scowl on Nathan's lips. He quickly pushed aside Duke for the moment and tried to remember when he used to look forward to the influx of tourists in town. These were people who didn't know about the Troubles, or more specifically, HIS Trouble. He could pretend to be normal again, just like everyone else. With a derisive snicker, Nathan chased away that notion...of ever being “normal” again. He wasn't. He was never going to be and now...Well now, the Summer people and the tourists were nothing more than a source of anxiety and a problem for him to control. There was always the chance that someone would figure out that Haven wasn't exactly the picturesque little town depicted on the postcards sold at the card shop. With the Chief gone, that was his problem now. Sometimes Nathan wondered how his father held it together for as long as he did.

Suddenly, an icy patch on the road shook Nathan out of his own head. He felt the Bronco lurch left when it should have been going straight. Confidently, he steered into the slide and tapped the breaks like a seasoned pro. He made a mental note to remember what stretch of the road he was on, so he could alert the road crew when he made it into the station. Now heading in the right direction, he took a cautious sip from his cup of coffee. He needn't be worried this morning. It was so cold out that even the usually blistering heat from the Bronco didn't do too much to stave off the cold outside. His coffee posed no threat to him today. Neither did the summer and the summer people. Both were a long way off now and there was no better reminder of that, than trying to drive to the police station in the middle of a snowstorm. It was then that Nathan heard his cell phone ring from inside his coat pocket. 


	2. Duke

** Chapter 2, Duke **

Normally, living on a boat had some very distinct advantages. One, it sounded impressive; especially to the well bred young women that would blow through town every summer. All it usually took was one look at Duke's mischievous grin and a moment to listen to his chivalrous offer to personally deliver the best time one could have in Haven, if you'd just be willing to step upon the Cape Rouge... Two, it was nice to be able to move your entire life in such an efficient manner; whenever you needed or wanted to. No packing. No moving trucks. No having to beg for boxes at the grocery store, or bribe friends to help haul your things with pizza and beer...Nope. Just pull up anchor and go. That came in handy when dealing with the aftermath of some of his summer adventures, or business dealings. Ah, business. Number three. If you're going to make your living by smuggling items in and out of the states for people, well living on a boat was a great advantage there too. Yup. Normally, living on the Cape Rouge was a pretty good deal; EXCEPT when the weather was like this. Duke had been lying about, awake in bed, after almost being evicted from it by the relentless waves. He was having a hard time remembering being tossed about so much while being tied up at the dock. Duke debated with himself whether or not he should get up and check The Rouge's moorings; when the sound of metal crashing to the floor jolted Duke out of bed and into the biting cold. 

_JESUS! It was freaking COLD!_ Duke groused to himself as his feet hit the floor of his boat.

Quickly, he grabbed a blanket off his bed and wrapped it around his shivering naked form. The biting cold radiating from his bedroom floor, seeped into him through his bare feet. He stomped them a little and jumped up and down once or twice...anything to get his blood pumping and temperature up. His attempts, while they probably looked humourous, proved to be futile. He might as well have been swimming in an ice bath! His eyes darted about the cabin looking for something to quickly throw on. He spied a pair of jeans hanging from the edge of his bed. Steeling himself against the inevitable cold, he dropped the blanket. The biting air in the room tore into him. With a sharp intake of breath, Duke made a mental note to get pajama pants the next time he was in town. With a flourish, he zipped up the jeans and grabbed back, greedily, for the blanket. With lurching steps and chattering teeth, he made his way towards the galley where he was sure his entire collection of professional grade cookware would be splayed across the floor. This wasn't exactly the way he had planned on starting his day. Sure enough, several of his pots and pans were laying upon the floor amongst several other items that had rolled off the counter top or fell out of an unsecured cabinet. Quickly, he scooped everything up and set it on a small table. The air in the cabin was still jarringly cold, so the red light indicating that his coffee was ready was a welcomed sight! Even more welcomed was his immediate relief to see the glass carafe was not smashed to pieces upon the ground. He was going to need a lot of coffee this morning. He could feel it. Just then, a wave carried him and his boat upward before mercilessly letting it drop back down hard, into the ocean. More items fell to the floor, a chorus of dull thuds, shrill crashes and clambering chaos.

 _Yup. LOTS of coffee this morning,_ Duke thought to himself. _...LOTS with a shot of whiskey, or two._ He acknowledged wearily.

Duke had no choice but to let the blanket drop; even against his better judgement. Perhaps a bit more used to the cold now, he lunged and grabbed a sweater he had left by his favourite chair. As he tugged it over his head, something on the floor, half hidden by some Mandarin Chinese newspapers caught his eye. Quickly, Duke moved aside the papers and picked up a photograph of himself on the day he won the Cape Rouge in a game of poker against one of his father's friends. He smiled as he remembered how he had felt that day. Powerful. Invincible. 21 years old and a master of his own destiny. He laughed softly to himself. Boy, was he wrong. It wasn't as if he ever did anything he didn't want to do...not REALLY. However, looking at that picture reminded him that it's only during the arrogance of youth do you ever feel THAT in control of your own life. Things change. People change. The truth is, none of us are really in control of anything. Not that you could have told 21 year old Duke that, but, then again, who could really tell him anything? Setting the photo aside, he braced himself against the raucous movement of the ship and felt around under the chair for the frame. It was there that he felt something sharp slice into his skin. Surprised, he quickly withdrew his hand and noticed a shard of glass had slid deeply into the palm of his left hand. Clutching his left hand in his right, he rushed toward the sink in the galley. He already knew before he grabbed for the first kitchen towel that the situation wasn't good; he was going to need stitches. The gushing flow of red seemed to travel from his palm and down over his fingers, with ease, and had no intention of stopping until it had to. 

_How the Hell was he going to drive his manual transmission Land Rover into town, in this weather, with THIS hand?_ He growled to himself, internally. With an audible “hiss” from the pain of the cold air hitting the cut, Duke grabbed a second towel to replace the blood soaked first. It was then that he saw the offending frame slide out from under the chair with the next round of waves. Mesmerized by the frames serendipitous appearance, Duke staggered over to where it lay on the floor; his hand momentarily forgotten. It had been so long ago...but there it was, another photograph that was left forgotten behind the other...behind the one of him after winning his boat. He reached down and picked up the broken frame. His blood dripped down and splashed the photograph. Duke used the corner of the towel (as it was the only part not soaked in his blood ) to dab at the offending bodily fluid that partially obscured the faces in the photo. There smiling back at him with that goofy grin, was an 8 year old Nathan Wuornos and a forever smirking, 8 year old Duke Crocker. Their arms were casually slung over each others shoulders, their faces smudged with dust from the infield. By their feet sat the trophy their Little League team, The Sea Dogs, won that year from The Cutters.

Duke found he couldn't help himself. He was actually smiling back at the two messy, carefree and HAPPY faces in that photograph, even as the blood dropped from his palm to the floor. 

“Things were sure a lot simpler back then.” He muttered. He could feel the smile fading from his lips as reality reared it's ugly head once more. He gently set the frame upright on the table and went back into his room to find his cell phone. He was going to need a ride to the hospital and he didn't know who else he could call who might actually show up to help him. 


End file.
